Grace
by ishibby
Summary: Grace Winchester is a 33-year old woman whose age should have meant she had her life in check already. After leaving Baker Street behind with the help of Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, she is set to make herself a new life away from her unrequited love. Full summary inside, Mycroft/OC. Post The Reichenbach Fall. ONESHOT


_Summary: Grace Winchester is a 33-yeard old woman whose age should have meant she had her life in check already. She had a great career working alongside Lestrade at Scotland Yard and great friends, but instead, she finds herself damaged by irreparable wounds from a man who would never have the capacity to love her back, the great detective Sherlock Holmes. Not only that, but a drunken pity session with his best friend and the man he actually could stand to love, John Watson, leads to a pregnancy she tells him nothing of. Seeking out help in disappearing from Mycroft, she begins to lead a new life away from Baker Street. But new feelings begin to emerge for the person she should be falling for the least…I guess she just has a thing for high-functioning sociopaths._

* * *

"There you go again. How could I ever compare to the brilliance of you and your brother, Mycroft?"

Grace had taken to inviting Mycroft over under the rouse of needing a status update on the world and to hear how John was managing after Sherlock's sudden decision to jump off the roof of Bart's. Really, her sudden dive into isolation and her fountain of regrets were starting to eat away at her every day she was alone with her thoughts and her growing stomach.

She offered him tea, as always, and when his update was done, he always tried to leave in as short a period of time as possible. She found it weirdly out of character that Mycroft always gave her shoulder a quick and awkward pat each time he went to leave, not forgetting to also say a goodbye to her baby bump and promising that he would have his assistant send by some more tea before his next visit.

He never got very far, though, as she always managed to rope him into staying a bit longer to stave off the loneliness. Sometimes, they would play chess, and she would hold her own much better than he expected-each time being surprised by the improvement she showed and her never-ending lack of determination to beat him even though it always proved futile in the end.

Nowadays, she had moved on to forcing him to watch a bit of telly with her as it allowed her to kick up her feet in a way that the chess table would not. Mycroft found that she could be surprisingly convincing when she needed to be, charming him into staying much longer than his requirements to the friend of his brother dictated.

This time, they had found themselves watching a crime mystery special that seemed eerily familiar to a case she had worked on with Lestrade during her time at Scotland Yard late last year.

He had just finished deducing who had killed the young girl in university—not her boyfriend but the landlord—and figured out his motive as well as exactly how and where he got the axe that murdered her—his brother was a lumberjack for hire, of course he didn't just go and buy it at a hardware store.

"You have a subtle brilliance," he responded without turning away from the television.

Not sure whether to be flattered or insulted, she replied, "Subtle? Is that a nice way of saying dumb? Or like a goldfish?"

Mycroft turned to her and with a sigh and said, "You know, I wish my brother wouldn't have gone around repeating everything I said to everyone."

"I wish he was still alive, even if it meant at the expense of your secret conversations."

He visibly stiffened in his seat on the couch and turned away from her. "Yes, well, it is done. Nothing else to be said about that."

She looked down into her lap and said softly, "I understand."

After all of their meetings or "hang-out sessions" as Mycroft's assistant had taken to calling them, teasing him the entire time, she had yet to master the art of dealing with the awkward silences that accompanied them. Even worse, silence was a thing Grace couldn't tolerate since going into practical hiding and leaving her entire life behind.

Mycroft, obviously disturbed by the silence as well, reassured her. "You have a capacity for humanity myself and my dearest brother were brought into this world without. It is not something to be so easily slighted by the hardship you feel right now."

She moved to turn off the television, the dramatic reenactments of the crimes starting to weigh down on her too much as she started to recall the many cases and dangerous situations she got wrapped up into while working alongside Mycroft's brother, the great detective and self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath, Sherlock Holmes.

"If I have any such brilliance, it is a glimmer in comparison to your sunburst. Always doomed to be overshadowed and consumed by it. That's something both John and I knew too well."

"Do not talk in such preposterous ways. It fails to suit you."

With a heavy heart and an even heavier sigh, she continued. "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

"What?"

"It's a quote by…"

"Albert Einstein. Or so you are made out to believe. How cliché. Yes, I am of course familiar, but what of it?"

"Any such glimmer of brilliance I once possessed was stomped out a long time ago. Can a person be insane and brilliant at the same time?" she wondered aloud. She was half asking him while attempting to also look inward for the answer herself.

"I would say history has proven such truths to be self-evident, as your home country would put it. Although, America is full of the insane."

At his answer, she nodded in agreement."If so, then maybe I am brilliant. Maybe even more so than you. Because the last 2 and a half years of my life have been filled with nothing but insanity."

"You are not insane. Right now you sound offbeat but I'm sure that is due more to your current physical state than your actual mental health."

"Offbeat? I fell in irrational and ridiculous love with a man who has zero capacity of ever loving me back. And when I finally realized that I couldn't escape this fact any longer, I slept with his best friend and the man he actually loved, got pregnant and ran away without a confession or at least point of contact for either of them."

She took a deep breath before she continued in a much smaller and hesitant voice, "And if that wasn't bad enough, when I finally began thinking that I could start putting my past behind me and start looking to the future, I instead released myself to my insanity and started to fall in love with a man that has the same if not an even smaller capacity for loving me back as Sherlock ever had."

A deep pause pierced her blathering as she realized that her big mouth may have gotten in the way of things again.

"I'm sorry. You're right. The pregnancy hormones are getting to my head. I'm losing my mind."

Another pause silenced the room as she began to wish he would just say something already. Anything would do, really. Call her crazy; say he'll never be able to love her. That's the only place she thought her sudden and unplanned outburst could end anyway—with more rejection from another Holmes brother. The silence was starting to consume whatever shred of sanity she had left.

"You're in love," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes, I think so," she said, not as relieved at the end of the silence as she had expected.

"With a man that has the same or less capacity to love you than even my own brother."

"Yeah, I think you just about got it." She was beginning to feel confused. It was unlike Mycroft to state the obvious.

As if he could read her mind—and maybe he could, or at least sometimes she felt like he really was—he continued. "I feel as if this is a stupid question, and you know that I abhor stupid questions. I am not stupid. I don't ask stupid questions. However, this man-"

"Yes?"

"This man. Would he happen to be of…relation to the last man you were in love with?"

"Yes," she answered plainly.

"This last man of course being my brother, Sherlock."

"Correct as always, Mycroft." She was starting to feel less and less nervous as her emotions were filled with more and more confusion.

"And this man...he is someone that you feel would not be able to reciprocate your feelings?"

"Yes, Mycroft. I thought we already established this?" Her brow began to mirror his confusion and it furrowed with the same frustrations he himself was feeling.

"Of course. I just wish to make sure that I've noted your sentiment correctly."

"Alright then…" she said partially to herself and partially to him. She didn't know exactly what else to say and since Mycroft seemed to be looking off into the distance with a glassy-eyed look she thought she would never see in his eyes, she trailed off in hopes of giving him space to let him come to his own conclusions.

After such a conclusion seemed to have been met, he continued on to pry, "This person…"

"Yes?" she asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. She thought Mycroft to be a genius. Someone with brilliance beyond the capabilities of even Sherlock himself, but she was now beginning to realize just how his competence in the human department was as poorly-tuned as his brother's.

"He would be…"

"Yes?"

"Myself." It was said as more of a definitive answer, almost like he was reassuring himself of his deductions rather than actually asking her for confirmation.

"Who else?"

"I see." His brow furrowed in a fit of contemplation she had never seen before. It was as if this simple revelation in how a woman might be feeling about him was more complex than any crime or political matter he had ever needed to resolve. The simple confession left him shorter of speech than in his quips back to his brother's smart-arse remarks.

"I am sorry to burden you with such a confession troubling to you as it must be. I've acted out of line. I truly appreciate everything you have done for me in my leave from Baker Street and I do not wish to repay your kindness with such inappropriate and worrisome-"

"No." The singular word stopped her tirade in its tracks.

Her lips ceased their movement, and he took his opportunity to do something he had been repressing in his thoughts for the last couple of months. He pressed his lips to hers, calmly, with a passion that was held back almost entirely by uncertainty.

He pulled back and stared at her, quickly assessing the situation. Distanced and with eyes fogged with an emotion she couldn't quite read, he continued, "You really talk quite a lot. Is this something you realize?"

Momentarily taken aback, she paused before relenting. "It's a fault of mine, yes."

"I did not claim it to be a fault." Somehow this reassured her in a way. Maybe his lips pressed against hers were not an emotionless attempt at silencing her rambling. However, she still couldn't be sure.

"I'm sure it annoys you."

"My dear, Grace, that couldn't be farther from the truth."

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A/N: Thank you for reading!

I am a relatively new fan to Sherlock, so I'm sorry if I didn't do the character of Mycroft justice! (I took inspiration in Sherlock's reaction to John wanting him to be his best man for Mycroft's reaction to Grace's confession). However, when I get into a new show, I really start to get into it. I've been watching a lot of theories on Sherlock (shout out to Rebekah TJLC Explained on YouTube—her videos about Johnlock are amazing and crazy in-depth!).

This being said, I've been mulling over a story for an OC in Sherlock (Grace Winchester [last name still under consideration and to no relation of Sam and Dean from Supernatural]). I've outlined a brief idea of how I would like the story to go.

Ideally, this would have been elaborated on somewhat more and turned into a chapter of a bigger story—maybe even two separate stories as I envisioned this piece as part of a larger sequel. However, I find myself lacking the patience and determination to continue on any one thing for very long. My eye wanders to my newest obsession too quickly. I also lack the finesse of a great writer. However, I found myself with some inspiration randomly while reading some other writers' excellent fanfictions and decided to at least write out this confession scene.

If anyone loves to write Sherlock fanfictions but finds themselves lacking inspiration for a new story or needs a place to start, please contact me! I would love to pass my ideas on to another more dedicated writer and maybe even slightly work alongside them (as a small contributor or "creator" type figure) who could take on the story as I can't.

Happy Series 4 and a very Happy New Year as well to everyone!


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